Why Wasn't He Watching?
by QuimbyCub
Summary: : Orwell is watching, but who is watching Orwell?  If I owned Cape, it would be better than it is. I'm just infatuated with Summer Glau. 1115 words. Complete


Why Wasn't He Watching?  
QuimbyCub  
The Cape  
K/PG  
Orwell and Fleming/Chess (family)  
Sum: Orwell is watching, but who is watching Orwell? (If I owned Cape, it would be better than it is. I'm just infatuated with Summer Glau. 1115 words. Complete)

He makes me furious. He makes me so angry I can barely contain myself. That's why I created Orwell. So I could share how completely outrageous the utter bullshit Fleming and Ark are getting away with is with the world.

But still, I can't believe I couldn't keep my mouth shut on that stupid train. He was ten feet away. TEN! Sure, I had my little mask on. But there is no way that if Fleming thought twice, about it, he wouldn't recognize my voice. Of course, I was two inches from him when I saved the congressmen from his little poisoning scheme. He didn't, even, recognize me then. I wonder if he even can. I know he's looking for me. Both of me: Orwell me, and me his daughter. Neither one of us want to be found by him. So, why did I have to go off about Fleming's fascism?

Part of it is because I am exactly the spoiled little rich girl Gregor Molotov said I was. I like to be right. I need to be right. It's not just about taking the city back, for me. I don't have a life I'm trying to get back to. I'm not like Vince. I don't have a code. I just want to take Fleming down. I know that I can get him where it hurts, and I really, really want too. My one unofficial guideline is that we don't kill people.

So, that is totally why I got pissed about Vince wanting Dice to kill my father—Fleming. I don't care if he lives or dies. I just can't have Vince thinking it's okay to kill Ark. It's the same reason I was mad at him for almost killing that cop. Except…

When Vince said he should have tried to kill my father—Fleming, dammit! Why do I keep doing that? It really did put me on edge. It's not Vince's fault that he doesn't think. Well, it is. But I shouldn't have snapped like that. And I really have no idea why I flipped out. Fleming has done a lot of horrible things, as a politician and as the evil villain, Chess. I shouldn't care too much about him being killed, as long as we don't do it. We aren't killers. But other people are.

And I don't intend to visit my father in Owl Island Prison. When I finally prove his guilt, which I will, he'll be locked away for life. He'll never be the father I want him to be. For all reasonable purposes, the story I told Vince is true: I've been on my own since I was twelve. I mean, my mom couldn't stand my father so she left me with him when I was born, because wasn't ready for a family (yet she started her own a few years later). And twelve, that was when Chess started to take over my father's career. That's when he quit watching me dance. That's when I gave up.

It made me a little happy to find out he reads my blog. It means I finally got his attention. I finally got him to care about my opinion. Sure it's my negative, sounding off, talking back to him like I'm a well spoken fifteen year old opinion, but he cares what I have to say. Sort of. He only cares because Orwell is exposing the crap out of him. I tried for a while, to get him back. To get his attention. I did all sorts of stuff. Dancing wasn't enough anymore, when I was little he loved it, but after a while I had to do more. Not just attention seeking stuff…some of it was, but some of it. Okay, example:

I cut my wrists, and stopped eating. But he didn't notice, and those aren't really "look at me" things, and they're really disrespectful for people who are genuinely in need of help. So, after that didn't work, I got suspended for fighting, let my grades slip, got caught stealing a car, started smoking and showed up at school drunk, all in turn. I even stole money from Ark. The awesome tech and cars (if they aren't 'borrowed') I'm bankrolling, money I've slowly stolen from Ark. A few hundred every month since I was thirteen. When his accountant noticed, he never even glanced at me, even though I had picked up a few expensive habits (like getting my nails done every Saturday). I had to transfer funds around to make it look like a banking error so an Ark underling wouldn't lose his job. Now they don't notice the funnel I've got going.

All the same, I just wanted him to let me know he was aware I existed. He cared what I was doing. He knew if I succeeded or failed. I wanted to know that he would be by my side if I screwed up, if I needed him, not just a happy face at award assemblies. I did a lot of stupid things, but I was still his little Prima ballerina. I think I still am. I think, when he looks for me, that's who he's looking for. His little girl, the one who never did anything wrong, the one he trusted and loved. Maybe that's why he hasn't recognized me, although, I'm still not sure why I didn't want Dice to kill him. Except that, maybe now that I know he's paying attention to a small part of my life, I think (on a sub-subconscious level) that he'll be there for me. It doesn't matter now, of course. But maybe it never would have. Maybe I always have been Orwell.

If my father had noticed that I was crying out for him, way back then, would life be different? Would Vince still be the Cape, Father still be Chess, and I still be Orwell? Would I be on my father's side with Ark or is it possible that he would be on mine? If he had taken the time to ask what was thinking, would I still be hiding from him? If I had told him I needed him, would I be spying on him from a warehouse and posting a blog? Would life be any different than it is, if one of us had tried a little harder? Or was Orwell meant to be watching? And I gotta wonder, if I can keep up with all the crimes of Fleming, Chess, and Ark, if Orwell is watching all that…Why couldn't he watch me; just me, his only daughter, when I was screaming for him to pay attention? Why can't he ever be watching out for me?

Please review, it makes me smile.


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